


cracks in the walls

by mendelssohnslieder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8067472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mendelssohnslieder/pseuds/mendelssohnslieder
Summary: “Mum?”The wedding rings fell with a clanking noise.“Ah—yes, Draco?”“Are you going to Azkaban again today?”





	

The guards didn’t even check her face twice.

As she silently handed them the parchments indicating her purpose of visitation, she was instantly whisked away to the row of cells reeking of depression.

Not death. She could handle death; she could handle a dead body at her doorstep without so much as a flinch. What she would much prefer not to handle was sheer depression hanging in the air, evident from wailing noises in the cells and stench of mold devouring the walls and bone-chilling wind that came everytime a Dementor passed across the windows.

“You have ten minutes.”

Narcissa waited until the guard’s footsteps had faded before turning her back. And even then, she could only stare at the feet of the man behind the bars; the bare feet, pale and bony and dirty from days spent in this hell hole. She could make out faint scratches on those feet... and not old scars either; fresh ones, still tinged red. She had to stop herself from flinching at the sight.

“Narcissa,” the man whispered.

Narcissa took a deep breath and forced herself to look up.

He gave her a weak smile, which was in tune with the rest of him. His prisoner clothes were tattered, as if he had been here for twenty years instead of mere twenty days. His cuffs were torn, his lips chaffed, his long hair fell way past his shoulders. More wounds covered his bare skin; his face and neck and hands and ears, as if he was sleeping with bugs every single night, if he slept at all. The bags under his eyes were heavy, and the very light stubble he kept for years were turning to full-grown beard.

His eyes were no longer gray.

“You look awful.”

He had the audacity to chuckle, before said chuckle turned into a full-blown coughing fit. Narcissa couldn’t help but notice the newly formed red specks on his fingers.

“Still better than Greengrass.” He looked at her from under his lashes, and Narcissa had to blink twice before being able to reply with a tight smile.

“He took me to see the World Cup for a date. You took me to a spare room.”

“Still the best idea I’ve had.”

He broke into another coughing fit, and Narcissa had to focus on the walls behind him to keep facing that way. After he was done, his shoulders were even more slumped than before; and it was mind-numbingly obvious how the mere attempt at sitting straight exhausted him.

“Draco,” he finally said in ragged breaths.

Narcissa waited for the rest. And when nothing else came out, she answered between her teeth, “Two weeks before he goes back to school.” After hesitating for a fraction of seconds, she added, “he asked about you. This morning.”

There were cracks in the walls.

“Tell him to be careful.”

Thin cracks. Wide cracks. The walls had been broken at some point; the colors were different from one side to another.

“Narcissa.”

Her jaw clenched.

She couldn’t do this. How could she do this? There were far more interesting things on the walls behind him; if the walls had been broken before, this prison might not be that safe after all. Prison breaks could happen. But, of course, there were the guards...

As if to remind her, a chilly wind blew through the window.

“Look at me.”

And Narcissa gave up.

At one point in her life, she had refused to look him in the eye. Because in his eyes were things she didn’t want to be reminded of; she could look at his clothes and thought what a smugly bastard, heir of million Galleons worth of property he was. She could look at his smile and thought about all the girls he had snogged and thrown away as if they were games he had gotten bored of. She could look at his polished shoes and long fingers and shiny hair and thought of worse things than curses.

She looked him in the eyes and she thought of fire cracking in the fireplace, of glasses of wine and heavy piles of blanket and private balldances. She looked him in the eyes, and she was reminded of home.

Lucius Malfoy left all pretenses of a weak smile as he held her gaze and held out his hand through the bars. “You’re fine.”

Narcissa looked at the bony palm and clasped it. His hand was colder than her pillows at night.

Not _we._  Not _I._

_You._

Narcissa nodded and looked at the pair of eyes that were once gray. “And you’ll come home to me.”


End file.
